


While Your Lips Are Still Red

by wildes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: And there's a ladder involved, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildes/pseuds/wildes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal thinks Will is sexually repressed and helps him with an exercise of a less conventional sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While Your Lips Are Still Red

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote something after eighteen months of not writing anything. And it's all due to a scene that had a ladder in it. Oh well. (I apologize.)

”I trust you know the works of Sigmund Freud, Will?”

“Yeah,” Will scoffs, shifting his gaze from the bridge of the good doctor’s nose to about a foot above his head. He has an idea about where this discussion might be going and he is not pleased, to say the least. 

They’d been sitting in silence for about seven minutes before Hannibal had opened his mouth for the first time after they’d exchanged greetings. Will had been counting the seconds, content not to be the first one to speak this time. He had run out of things to say. 

He closes his eyes, rubs his hand absently across his face.

“You don’t sound pleased,” Hannibal notes calmly. “I’m curious why?”

Will sighs. “I don’t think the answer I’m looking for is there.” _I just need another brain scan, this isn’t the kind of crazy I am._

“We have to consider all possibilities,” Hannibal says, fixing his piercing gaze on Will. 

Will doesn’t reply, and so they sit in silence again. Will counts the seconds, because it calms him down and assures him that he’s not losing time. _Fifty-seven._

“Sigmund Freud wrote many things, Will,” Hannibal says. His voice is earnest and he’s learning forwards in his chair. Will mirrors him without really meaning to, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning his head to his hands. “Those things have helped millions of people. What makes you think they couldn’t help you?”

“What makes you think they could?” Will shoots back. Hannibal gives a small, lopsided smile.

“Do you think you are sexually repressed?” Hannibal asks instead of replying.

Will flinches and sits up to try and hide it. Unfortunately, he knows Hannibal’s attention on him has been unbroken since the moment they sat down. 

“I haven’t thought about it,” Will says reluctantly. Suddenly he feels like he doesn’t have enough space, so he leans back in his chair, letting his head fall back so he’s staring at the ceiling. “I don’t think so.”

“Even though, after one of your hallucinations, you kissed Alana Bloom, like trying to blow off steam?” Hannibal says, and Will almost snaps his neck when he gets up to confront him.

“At the time you said I kissed her because she happened to be there,” Will remarks dryly, studying the lines on Hannibal’s face. They all seem to be carefully controlled, his face remaining as unreadable as ever. 

“And it’s exactly what I am saying now,” Hannibal says.

Will considers this for a moment, and to his dismay he has to admit it’s at least almost true. _Thirty-eight, thirty-nine._

“Do you feel like you’re repressing something?” Hannibal asks gently.

“No,” Will replies, and it’s almost the truth. “I feel like there’s something in me trying to get out,” he adds in a quiet voice, when he can’t stand the silence anymore. 

Hannibal nods, tilting his head slightly. “Do you relieve yourself, Will?”

“Do you mean if I –“ Will starts, more or less panic-struck, unable to hold back another flinch. “If I masturb—“

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s a completely natural part of life,” Hannibal cuts him off firmly. “And nothing you say will leave this room.”

“Except if you decide to write an article about me,” Will mumbles under his breath. When Will blinks, images of him in his bed flash in front of his eyes uninvited. He remembers clutching onto a handful of white sheet, withering desperately in his bed, images of Alana and Hannibal running through his head. He remembers the almost inexplicable need to come and the increasing difficulty to make that happen, night after night…

“Do you?” Will blurts, the last of his defence mechanisms kicking in. 

“Yes,” Hannibal replies without hesitation, and it throws Will off. He is again met by ideas fleeting through his brain he knows he shouldn’t have, of Hannibal touching himself in the dark of the night, maybe cupping himself through all the layers of his exquisite clothing to try and relieve some of the tension. 

“Me too,” Will says, and he hates that it comes out as no more than a whisper, almost a rasp.

“And do you feel satisfied?”

Will runs a hand across his face. “Not so much lately,” he admits. “It’s like there’s too much stuff in my brain for me to fully –“

“Enjoy yourself,” Hannibal finishes the sentence for him, a strange expression on his face. 

Will nods curtly. His brain still hasn’t completely forgotten about Hannibal, his hand firmly wrapped around the length of him… 

“I feel guilty,” Will says, and he’s surprised and confused to hear it comes out aloud, and for a moment he fears he’s about to lose time again. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

“I wonder if we should do a little exercise,” Hannibal says just as Will’s getting on to the double-digits. “I think it might benefit you.”

Will pointedly doesn’t respond, so after a few moments (or thirteen seconds, Will is still counting), Hannibal goes on. “You feel guilty about the things you feel. It might be good for you to share those feelings, those urges, with someone you can trust. Their non-judgement towards you might relieve you from some of the burden you are currently carrying.”

Will grins joylessly. “Is that even real psychology, doctor?”

“It is worth a try,” Hannibal replies, returning Will’s expression with his own, very genuine-looking smirk. Will can see his teeth, and all he can think of are the marks those teeth would leave around his collar bones.

He needs to stop this.

He leans back and closes his eyes. “What do you want me to do, then?”

“Just imagine yourself in an erotic situation, as vividly as you can, as detailed as you can,” Hannibal says. “Just focus on the colors and the movements and the sounds for the time being.”

“Mmhm,” Will replies, trying to set the scene in his head. The problem is, he keeps trying to imagine Alana, but it’s Hannibal that shows up, next to him, over him, under him. Fully clothed, naked, covered in sweat. “I can’t,” he says out loud. “I don’t think this will help.”

“You’re repressing your emotions, Will,” Hannibal says. His voice is warm and soft like honey, and it flows through Will mind and takes its place in Will’s fantasy. “Let yourself go…”

He hears Hannibal get up from his chair and walk behind Will, where he stops. Will feels both uneasy and slightly aroused by knowing that Hannibal is watching him. He imagines Hannibal leaning over and running his hands firmly across Will’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt from behind. Will can hear Hannibal’s breathing from behind him, can smell his expensive cologne, and fantasy and reality feel like they are beginning to mix up. His breath hitches in his throat and his heart rate picks up, and an involuntary shudder makes its way through his body.

“There we go,” Hannibal says under his breath, his voice coming from surprisingly near Will’s ear. Will twitches, lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You can open your eyes, now,” Hannibal says, his voice normal again, coming from further away than Will would like it to.

Will complies, and blinks a couple of times to try and get accustomed to the light again. He feels uncomfortable and turned on despite himself.

“I would like for you to stand up, now,” Hannibal says, his back to Will, fiddling with some papers on his desk as though absent-minded, but Will can sense it’s only a front.

He starts to count the seconds again, because he can’t seem to rationalize the situation in his head. Nothing seems to make sense anymore, and he doesn’t necessarily want to get up. His cock has slightly stirred in interest, and even though Will has a pair of his more forgiving pants on, he would feel exposed standing up. _And maybe that’s exactly what Hannibal wants_ , Will thinks feverishly, shaking the thought off half a second later. He trusts Hannibal, after all, and if anyone were to ask him why he does, Will couldn't reply. He just does, and hopes to god it's not a mistake.

Will takes a couple of deep breaths, and gets up when he has counted to twenty-five and neither of them has said anything.

“Good,” Hannibal says instantly, an approving tone to his voice that does things to Will, makes his stomach drop pleasantly and makes it hard to maintain a steady breathing rhythm. Will watches as Hannibal turns around and starts walking towards him, eyes fixed in Will’s face.

Instinctively, Will takes a couple of steps back as his doctor takes a couple forwards. He sees a ghost of a grin dance around Hannibal’s mouth, a wicked sort of pleasure radiating from him that Will should, in all honesty, find unsettling, but what only manages to make his belly fill with butterflies yet again.

Will lets out a gasp as he hits the ladder in Hannibal’s office. One of the steps hits him quite painfully against his shoulder blade, and he winces. When he looks up to Hannibal, he’s standing almost right in front of him, right up in Will’s personal space, and the hint of a smile on his face has widened into a full-blown grin.

Hannibal takes a further step forward, his chest just inches away from Will’s. “I need you to have your trust, Will,” he says quietly, almost intimately. “Make eye-contact with me,” he adds.

Will carefully lifts his gaze from the veins of Hannibal’s throat to look into his eyes. _One, two, three._

“Do I have your trust?” Hannibal asks, tilting his head, and even though Will is lost in his eyes and all the emotions there, he doesn’t miss the way Hannibal’s tongue sweeps across his lower lip.

“I—yeah,” Will manages.

Hannibal nods, his smile revealing his sharp teeth. “Good,” he says.

_Eleven, twelve, thirteen._

Will’s whole body jerks in panic when, before he can see or think or comprehend what’s happening, Hannibal has pinned him against the ladder, the steps of it digging into his back hard enough to bruise. 

“Sshh,” Hannibal shushes him when Will opens his mouth to protest. He’s aware his mouth has fallen open and his eyes are wide in shock. “Give me your hands, Will.” Hannibal’s voice is commanding, almost threatening, and Will finds himself raising his hands above his head despite his best judgement, automatically obeying.

“There,” Hannibal says, and Will notices that he’s slightly breathless. Will can only watch as Hannibal ties his hands to an upper step of the ladder. There’s a ball of panic rising in his chest. He has lost count of seconds, so he feels like he can’t be sure if this is really happening or if it’s just another hallucination. The signs would point to a hallucination.

“Is this real?” he asks, as Hannibal tightens the ties.

Hannibal raises an almost non-existent eyebrow. “Yes, Will, this is very real.”

“It’s eight thirteen p.m.,” Will mumbles, staring at the clock on the wall opposite to him. “I’m in Baltimore, Maryland. _My name is Will Graham._ ”

“Yes,” Hannibal says, and takes a step back, as though admiring his work. Will tentatively tries to yank his hands free from the ties. He doesn’t succeed, and that brings a lopsided grin to his doctor’s face. “I need you to trust me,” Hannibal says, closing in on Will again. “I am going to make you focus on the very moment. Better than you have ever been able to focus before.”

Before Will can consider this, there’s a firm hand on his throat, and the whole of Hannibal’s body is pressed against his. Hannibal’s thumb is expertly placed on Will’s windpipe, and Will knows that by applying just a bit of pressure Hannibal will be able to cut his air off completely.

The thought terrifies him on multiple levels, but on others he finds himself inexplicably aroused by being under the complete control of Hannibal Lecter. His whole body shivers as Hannibal nudges his hair with his lips.

“Don’t,” Will says, his voice strained, but even as he says it he isn’t really sure he means it. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, moving his thumb to press at Will’s pulse point, “I can sense your fear.” Hannibal takes a deep breath in, as if trying to smell Will. Will breaths in deep as well, trying to control his panic. “But I can sense other things as well, my dear boy.”

Hannibal presses his hips against Will’s, then, and Will lets out a low sound as he feels Hannibal’s erection against his lower belly. “I know you are enjoying this, Will, there’s no point in trying to hide it from me,” Hannibal says into Will’s hair, pressing Will even harder against the ladder. “There’s no point in trying to hide anything in me, as the matter of fact.”

“I don’t want –“

“Quiet,” Hannibal snaps, his grip on Will’s throat tightening just enough for it to make Will’s breathing feel challenging. “I know you do, Will, you have to stop kidding yourself. It’s a part of your problem.”

Will closes his eyes, desperately tries to make some sense of the situation, but his mind can’t seem to be able to wrap itself around what’s happening. His cock is embarrassingly hard, and Will isn’t even sure how that’s possible considering the anxiety he is experiencing at the moment.

“Please,” he says, and it’s no more than a whisper. Will doesn’t even know what he’s begging for anymore, doesn’t know if it’s for Hannibal to stop or for him to go on and do whatever it is that he’s about to do. The suspense is killing him.

Hannibal pets his hair with one hand, the other still firmly around Will’s throat. “You don’t have to worry with me, Will,” he says, and his tone is almost challenging.

“Stop,” Will says, and that’s when it happens.

Hannibal closes his hand around Will’s throat, presses against Will’s windpipe with his thumb and forefinger and _Will can’t breathe._

The panic that had been building inside him explodes and he tries to struggle, but his hands don’t move from where they are tied above his head and Hannibal’s body is so close to his it’s impossible to kick him. Every cell of his body is screaming for air, and he only vaguely registers Hannibal ripping Will’s shirt open with his free hand, running his hand over Will’s bare chest.

“Relax,” Hannibal says forcefully just as he releases his grip from Will’s throat. “You are safe.”

Will’s breath wheezes when he pulls his lungs full of air. There are tears streaming down his cheeks and down to his chin, and he can taste the salt as some of them make their way into his mouth. Hannibal watches him calmly.

“It will be easier after this,” he says. “You will know how it feels.”

Will wants to protest but he can’t find the words. He watches as Hannibal trails his hand along the line of his collar bone and then goes down to twist his nipple. Will moans at the touch. His skin feels hypersensitive.

“It would serve you well to try and relax, Will,” Hannibal says, knotting the hem of Will’s shirt behind his back so he has free access to Will’s chest. With a quick, smooth movement, Hannibal’s thigh is pressed against Will’s crotch and it almost shocks him how good it feels. He doesn’t know whether he should feel bad or embarrassed about how turned on he is, despite the fear and the terror.

Will realizes that underlying all the fear he has an inexplicable trust for Hannibal, and it’s that trust that allows him to be aroused. 

“Please,” Will rasps, and now there’s not even a hint of ‘no’ in his voice. It’s desperate, but for a whole another set of reasons.

“Good, Will, we are making progress,” Hannibal says, smile back on his face, his hand trailing its way back around Will’s throat again. He nudges Will’s crotch with his thigh, and the friction feels so good it makes the last of the fear disappear, replaces it with lust and need and desperation.

“I am going to make you mine,” Hannibal whispers into his ear, continuing his work on Will’s crotch and pressing his fingers on Will’s neck so that it’s hard, but still possible, for Will to breathe. “Look into my eyes.”

Will obeys, and the look in Hannibal’s eyes almost undoes him then and there. It’s full of determination and power, but also desperate need and something almost unreadable that Will figures could be affection.

“My good boy,” Hannibal says, reaches one hand down between them and opens Will’s fly effortlessly, yanks his pants down with force, his eyes never once leaving Will’s. Will loses his ability to form proper thoughts when Hannibal wraps one hand tightly around Will’s cock and tightens his grip on Will’s throat with the other.

It’s an almost unimaginable feeling, the pain and fear and chaos of not being able to breathe mixed with the pleasure he’s getting from Hannibal almost brutally jerking him off, the expensive fabrics of Hannibal’s suit rubbing against his bare chest, and the steps of the ladder digging into his back. Tears are streaming down his face again, but he can’t bring himself to close his eyes, wanting to see Hannibal’s face instead, the calm front he always has slowly but surely crumbling down.

He trusts Hannibal now more than ever, dangerously, maybe even lethally. He doesn’t struggle even as the world begins to become softer around the edges, or when he can’t focus his eyes properly anymore.

It’s when the darkness starts to creep into his field of vision that Hannibal lets go of his throat and of his cock simultaneously, and it’s like life has been given back to him, the colours brightening and the edges of the world sharpening with every sputtering intake of breath. He’s so close to coming it’s almost unbearable, and as soon as he has enough air in his lungs to form words he starts pleading Hannibal to touch him.

“I am going to do unspeakable things to you, Will Graham,” Hannibal says, watching him closely, his eyes almost feverish. “You look gorgeous like this; imagine when I have you sprawled over a bed, spread open for me…”

“Please…” Will doesn’t even recognize his own voice, he’s so far gone.

“I can’t hear you,” Hannibal says, every tiny bit of his appearance teasing.

“Please!” Will says, and then purely instinctively, without meaning to, adds, “Sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Hannibal says, and closes the space between them again. He touches Will’s cheekbone with his lips – or maybe he tastes a tear that’s left there, Will isn’t sure. 

Once again panic grips Will as Hannibal cuts his air off with a firm hold on his throat. But it subsides quickly as Hannibal’s hand finds Will’s cock and starts rubbing it, painfully slow at first, and then quicker, rubbing his thumb over the head of Will’s dick from time to time.

Will is so close to the edge now he is starting to see stars – or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen - either way, he’s about to come any second now. It occurs to him that he’s about to stain Hannibal’s clothes with his come and that’s the thought that finally tips him over the edge.

Just as he comes, Hannibal releases his hold of Will’s throat, letting him breathe. The oxygen flooding into his body intensifies his orgasm and makes time stretch so that he feels like it’s never going to end. He gasps and sputters and moans so loud that in any other situation, at any other time, he would be embarrassed beyond himself. But now he can’t bring himself to care.

Hannibal holds him through the aftershocks, shares his breathing air and it feels so intimate to have his eyes fixed on Will when he’s coming he’s sure that if he hadn’t just come he would be getting hard again.

Hannibal reaches up to free Will’s hands as Will shudders, leaning against Hannibal’s body, feeling tired and relaxed and completely and utterly satisfied. He feels partly like he’s lost his own will and like he’s lost every last bit of his physical strength. He can’t do anything but let Hannibal hold him up.

Hannibal rubs life back to Will’s hands while Will buries his nose in Hannibal’s neck, breathing the man in. His pants are still around his ankles and his come is drying up between their bodies, on Hannibal’s stupidly expensive three-piece suit, but Will can’t bring himself to be bothered.

Will closes his eyes as Hannibal wraps both of his strong arms tightly around Will’s body, holding him still. Feeling safe and tired, Will lets himself be held.

He feels like a mess, but Hannibal is holding him together.

He doesn’t think he wants to move ever again.

**

Will is limp against him, his breath steady and his heartbeat slowly going down.

Hannibal’s erection is almost painful where it’s still hidden by his pants, but he doesn’t mind. What matters to him is the satisfaction he gets from seeing Will like this.

From now on, it’s going to be him and Will against the world. Nothing is going to take Will away from him, not anymore, now that Will has submitted to him.

He grins to Will’s hair. It’s all going to be okay. 

There’s no one to stop him now.

Will has become _his_.


End file.
